Please, please, please let me get what I want
by The Taste of Red
Summary: “So, what do you want?” Kenny asks me. I think for a moment. “Wendy,” I answer simply. But I know things are never that simple. Kyle’s POV. Kyle/Wendy. Het. Chaptered.
1. Chapter 1

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This is my first time writing any sort of fiction ever. I'm used to writing analytical grad-school papers, so I apologize if it's a bit wordy.

AN: I don't know the real order of ages of the four main boys. I'm assuming Kyle is the youngest for this story.

Disclaimer: I do not own the South Park characters. Story is titled after a song by The Smiths (go listen!). Also, I made Stan a good cook in this story (although it is a minor detail) in honor of the story that got me into fanfic: SSWTE (go read!).

"**So, what do you want?" Kenny asks me. I think for a moment. "Wendy," I answer simply. But I know things are never that simple. Kyle's POV. Kyle/Wendy/Stan love triangle. Het. Chaptered. **

**Please, please, please….let me get what I want**

Chapter 1:

"Dude, what kind of beer do you want for your keg? Me and Cartman are gonna pick it up after I get out of class."

I pause to think for a moment before answering Stan's question. What sort of beer do you get to mark your 21st birthday?

"Honestly, I don't care," I respond into the phone receiver to my best friend. "Get whatever's cheapest."

"Dude, you know Cartman will totally rip on you if you Jew out and get the cheapest beer," Stan sighs exasperatingly into my ear. "Just give me a few choices and we'll see what they have in stock."

"Okay, fine," I snap. "Just get one of the light domestic beers, and _don't_ mention to Cartman that I said anything about the price."

"Deal. Oh, and we'll pick up some liquor for the party too since you can't buy anything until midnight!" Stan laughs at me. "Tonight's party is gonna be awesome! I'll call you later, but we'll probably get to your place around seven to get set up. See you later."

Despite my earlier annoyance, I can't help smiling as I get off the phone with Stan. We've been best friends since…well, forever, and I'm pleased that he's spearheading the plans for the party tonight. Of course, Stan also planned his girlfriend Wendy's 21st, and Cartman's, and Kenny's, and now finally, _finally_, mine. He's got it down to a fine art at this point.

I might as well get started cleaning up before I have to get to class.

I look around the living room area of the one-bedroom townhouse that my parents bought for me. I still can't believe my parents have equity in this place. For some reason they thought I'd do too much partying if I lived on campus with Stan and Cartman our freshman year, but they were wrong. It turned out that it was _much_ easier to party off campus without the ubiquitous eye of the campus police around.

These days, Stan and Cartman share a rented apartment off-campus, and Kenny moved into his brother's apartment on the other side of town after community college. We're in our last semester at Denver University, and we've been trying to make the most out of our college years while we can. So far, so good, since most of our friends from South Park came to college here too.

I mentally count out the number of people who should be stopping by tonight. "How the hell am I going to fit 30 people in here?" I mutter as I pick up a tennis shoe littering the hallway by the staircase.

I trudge up the stairs to my bedroom, wondering what sort of shape I left it in this morning, and feel relieved when I realize it's pretty tidy. As I walk into the bathroom across from my bedroom to note its deficiencies, I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Staring back at me is a good-looking, boyish face with short, auburn curls cropped close to my head. I'm an average height and slightly better than average build, which unfortunately is often disguised by the many layers of clothes I have to wear to keep warm. I'm not as classically handsome as Stan, or have the bad-boy image that Kenny has, but I've done well enough to have attracted a fair share of female attention over the past four years. Speaking of which…

"God, I hope Wendy doesn't bring Rebecca…" I groan aloud as I look away from the mirror.

Rebecca is Wendy's roommate, whom I unceremoniously hooked up a few times last year. Though I think Rebecca has (mostly) moved on, things are a little awkward around her. You know, I still don't know understand she and Wendy get along…they're just so different. Make no mistake, Rebecca was a good lay, but there is little else to recommend her. She's not smart like Wendy, and she doesn't have a personality like Wendy. But if having Wendy there tonight means Rebecca is going to be there, then I'll have to deal.

I'm smiling again as I head back downstairs to get some cleaning supplies. Yes, tonight should be fun.

* * *

I'm walking on campus to my afternoon engineering class, when I see a dark-haired figure waving at me from several yards away. As my eyes focus on the now-approaching figure, I realize it's a familiar face.

"Hey Wendy," I smile as she joins my side and walks along with me. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing," she shrugs, "but I'm excited for the party tonight! What time is everyone getting there?"

"Uh, I think Stan and Cartman are coming over around seven…aren't you coming with Stan?" I eye Wendy quizzically.

"Well, we haven't figured it out yet, but probably. That way we can get an early start on our drinking too!" she laughs.

"That's what I like to hear, drinking buddy!" I laugh along as I playfully punch her arm. For being such a thin girl, Wendy sure can drink. She definitely can outdrink Stan, who usually passes out before 1 a.m., and she can almost, _almost_ outdrink me. Must be part of that women's lib movement she's always talking about.

Our laughter subsides and we're left smiling at each other. I hold her blue-eyed gaze for a second before she looks towards the ground.

"Oh, and don't worry—Rebecca's going home this weekend, so she won't be there. I know things are awkward between you two," Wendy hastily mentions, and I'm surprised she's so blunt.

I offer a weak smile in response, despite my extreme relief to hear this news. I don't want to disparage her friend in front of her.

"Well, I gotta head over to University Hall for my class," she says after a moment of silence. "I'll see you later tonight," she adds as she turns to hug me.

She wraps her arms loosely around me in a quick hug. It's funny; we're almost the same height.

_Wendy is so much taller than Rebecca…_

"Bye, Wendy, see you tonight," I wave as she walks away. I notice a guy check Wendy out as she passes by. But this doesn't surprise me at all. Because as Wendy is walking away, I notice that I'm checking her out too.

* * *

"What the hell is wrong with me?" I question myself aloud. Wendy? My best friend's girlfriend? _Oh come on_…_It's not like you haven't admired her ass before…you're a normal guy! She's hot! It doesn't mean anything._

While I continue my mental conversation with myself, I finish getting dressed by pulling a t-shirt over my head. This is the fifth shirt I've tried on….

I hear a knock at my door and I quickly smooth down my hair before heading downstairs to answer it. I'm reciting my mantra in my head as I open the door…

_It doesn't mean anything… it doesn't mean anything… it doesn't mean anything…_

"Hi Kyle," Wendy smiles as I open the door to see her heart-shaped face. She's wearing a V-neck sweater and jeans so tight they cling to her slim hips and long legs.

_She's hot… she's hot… she's hot…_

"Hi Wendy," I say meekly as I try to push the uninvited thoughts out of my head. Behind Wendy, I welcome the distraction of Stan and Cartman stumbling across the parking lot while carrying a heavy aluminum keg between them.

"Hey Stan! Hey Cartman!" I call out to my friends, while shielding my eyes from the setting sun. I'm surprised that they seem to be struggling with the keg so much…Stan is pretty strong from years of weightlifting, and Cartman has always been 'big-boned'…

"Aye! You lazy Jew, why don't you do something useful like get the rest of the crap out of my truck! Do I have to do everything?!" Cartman yells breathlessly. "Wendy! Hold the door open for us!" he continues.

"Dumbass," Wendy mumbles as she rolls her eyes and takes the door from me. I grunt in concurrence before stepping down from the porch step to head toward my friends.

Cartman is still grumbling as I pass by on my way to get the supplies. In the bed of his truck is a garbage can for the keg, the beer tap, a folded ping pong table, and several grocery bags of alcohol, mixers, ice, and party foods.

By the time we have set up the beer pong table in the living room, the keg in the ice-filled garbage can on the porch, and the rest of the drinks in the kitchen, Kenny has made his way over and the five of us are already slightly tipsy from a half-finished bottle of cheap tequila. Guests should start trickling in any moment now.

"Shit—I was going to make those potato skins and those wings!" Stan suddenly jumps up from his spot on the couch between Wendy and me. "Shit— and the nachos!"

I smirk. Of course, Stan the party planner/chef extraordinaire has to find a way to bring unnecessary stress upon himself.

"Relax dude, just put out a bowl of chips or something," Kenny suggests from his seat on the living room floor.

"No way! I already bought all the ingredients for everything!" Stan whines.

Kenny waves him off as if he doesn't want to discuss it any more.

"D'ya need a help?" Wendy asks, slightly stumbling over her words.

"No thanks babe, this'll be really easy," Stan smiles to his girlfriend before striding into the kitchen, leaving the four of us behind in the living room.

"I see you're already slurring your words Wendy…it's gonna be a long night for ya, huh?" I tease.

"Oh whatever Kyle, you know I can outdrink you!" she scoffs.

"Wanna bet? I say we take a shot now!"

"Fine," she coos fearlessly.

"You're sooooo going to lose," I taunt, excited by the impromptu competition.

I pour the tequila until the shot glasses are replete with the amber liquor. Suddenly, I remember Kenny and Cartman sitting there on the floor.

"Uh, you guys want a shot?" I ask awkwardly, my adrenaline quickly diminished.

Kenny simply looks at me with a cocked eyebrow.

"Whatever, I'm not joining in on your faggy bet," Cartman replies. "I'd beat you both so bad anyways."

Kenny starts laughing, as it is well known that Cartman cannot hold his liquor and usually ends up either passed out or crying when he's drunk.

"Aye! Fuck you Kenny! Screw you guys, I'm getting a beer!" Cartman rages as he opens the sliding glass door to the patio where the keg is located. He slides the door shut angrily and the three of us explode with laughter.

"Last chance; Kenny?" I ask again once the laughter has abated.

"Okay…" Kenny responds unsurely as he scoots closer to the coffee table where the two shots are already poured. I fill up another shot glass with tequila and the three of us raise the vessels in a toast.

"To the last one standing!" I glare playfully into Wendy's eyes. She holds her own and stares back into mine intensely.

"Good luck, Kyle, you'll need it!" she mischievously sneers.

Wendy and I summarily slam the shots down our throats, while Kenny gently swallows his. Wendy and I both flinch from the warm sting of the alcohol, simultaneously laughing at each other's scrunched up faces. Kenny, on the other hand, seems too distracted by something to acknowledge the aftershock of the tequila…

"Hey, did you guys just do a shot without me?" Stan accuses as he walks into the room, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"Nah man, you're not missing anything…" Kenny replies to Stan, although his questioning eyes are still set on me.

The subsequent silence in the room is quickly broken as the first guest of the night knocks on my door.

Party time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks again to everyone who reviewed and lended suggestions for improvements. I wrote most of this chapter before posting my first chapter, so I probably didn't implement any of those suggestions just yet. Also, I don't foresee my updates coming as often as this one did, but I intend to finish this story no matter how long it ends up being.**

**Disclaimer: This chapter briefly includes lyrics from the song that is the namesake of this story (c/o The Smiths).**

* * *

Chapter 2:

The party begins innocuously enough. The first guests to arrive are Craig and Clyde, which is typical because neither usually has anything better to do. Kenny and I decide to start in on the beer pong against Craig and Clyde while we await the rest of the stragglers to show up. Cartman is sitting on the couch nearby, critiquing our throws and defenses, although he is too lazy to get up and play himself. Stan is still in the kitchen cooking (also typical) and Wendy is with him.

Feeling kind of restless after losing the first round of beer pong, I relinquish my position at the table to Butters, who has just shown up. I hear Kenny trying to explain the rules of the game to Butters as I head into the kitchen.

"How's the food coming, Stan?" I ask, although the savory aromatics give me a good indication.

"It'll all be done in about five minutes," he replies, deep in concentration over the fryer.

"So what are you guys drinking?" I ask Wendy and Stan.

"We just did a shot—Hey Heidi, hey Lola," Stan answers my question while simultaneously greeting some new party guests who pass by the kitchen doorway. "But I think I should move to beer soon."

"Aw, come on! Let's do another shot!" I look for support. "Wendy, are you in?"

"I'm with Stan on this one; the party just started and I should pace myself," she answers sheepishly.

Before I can respond, I'm cut off by the sound of Stan cursing as he lifts some food out of the fryer.

"Stan, did you burn the chicken?" Wendy asks.

"_No_, Wendy, I have it under control," Stan snaps at her.

"Jeez…sorry…" Wendy apologizes.

I can tell Stan is annoyed, so we're all quiet as he puts the finishing touches on the wings and the other appetizers.

"I'm gonna put this out on your table, Kyle," Stan irritably tells me as he picks up two plates of food and walks out of the kitchen.

Wendy sighs.

"Do you wanna go get that beer now, Wendy?" I ask, trying to break the silence.

"Yeah," she nods.

I put my hand gently on her back as a signal for her to lead the way. Once we're out in the living room I see that several more people have shown up…most of them friends from South Park. At the moment, Stan is starting a beer pong game with Clyde, Kevin and Token. Some of the new guests are watching the game, others are simply mingling and grazing on Stan's appetizers.

Kenny is the only person to acknowledge Wendy and me as we walk through the living room to the patio, and he does so with a simple nod of the head.

Once the two of us step outside, I see Craig off to the side smoking a cigarette. There's still some twilight, but the dusk is deepening.

"Hey guys," Craig greets, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He addresses me: "So who else is coming to this thing?"

"About fifteen more," I estimate. "Maybe twenty if my neighbors show up."

"Is Bebe supposed to come?" Craig asks Wendy.

Poor Craig. He's always trying to hook up, but he usually comes on way too strong. Actually, maybe I should say, 'Poor Bebe.'

"She said she had a sorority thing going on tonight, but she'd try to stop by in a few hours," Wendy answers uncomfortably.

"Sweet. So, uh, Wendy, gonna do a keg stand later?" Craig suggests.

Wendy laughs nervously. "We'll see how drunk I am!"

"Hurry up pour yourself a beer then!" he urges. "If you do it, I will be soooooo happy," he adds with a wink.

"Whatever you say, Craig!" I laugh as I start pouring two beers for Wendy and me.

Just then, Kenny pokes his head outside.

"I just need to get some more beer for beer pong," he says, raising an empty plastic pitcher. "Wendy, why don't you come inside a play a game with Stan?"

"Shots, keg stands, beer pong…why do I get the feeling everyone here is trying to get me drunk?" she laughs.

"Cause we are," Craig answers bluntly.

"_Hey_!" Wendy shrieks, though the rest of us are laughing at Craig's honesty. We only laugh harder when I hand her the plastic cup of beer that I already poured for her.

"I got the beer; come on, Wendy," Kenny says, full pitcher in hand.

Wendy nods before opening the door and entering the apartment ahead of Kenny. I start to follow just as Kenny begins to close the door in my face.

"Kenny, what the hell?!" I ask, annoyed.

"Sorry, Kyle, I didn't know you were coming in too," he says as he opens the door again. He makes a grandiose sweeping motion with his free arm, beckoning me in.

"Weak, dude," I mutter as I step inside. Kenny closes the door behind me without another word.

* * *

The most interesting thing to occur over the next few hours is probably the endless beer pong tournament. Cartman finally joins in on a game, but then refuses to leave the table. Wendy plays a couple rounds of the drinking game here and there, but after losing every time, she lets Heidi take over her spot next to Stan. Bebe never shows up to the party, but Craig seems pretty happy talking to Lola, anyhow.

I'm sitting on my couch, chit-chatting with one of my neighbors, when Wendy comes along and plops down next to me, beer in hand.

"Did you see any of that?" she asks, gesturing towards the ping pong table. "I _suck_," she sulks to me. "I kept making us lose," she frowns.

"Oh, I'm sure Stan didn't mind," I reassure, as I drape my arm around her shoulders in consolation. "After all, you looked hot bending over the table!"

_Shit. I probably shouldn't have said that…_

"Gee, thanks!" Wendy says sarcastically as she pokes me in the stomach.

"Aw, now you're gonna get it!" I laugh as I start to poke her back, relieved she didn't take my comment seriously. Before Wendy can properly retaliate, we are interrupted by a loud whistle.

"Attention! Attention ev'rybody!" Stan slurs. "Okayyyy guys….it's midnight! Ya know what that means!" Stan announces. "It's Kyle's birthday!"

"Shots!" Clyde calls out, taking Stan's cue.

"C'mon Kyle! Get in the kitchen and do a shot!" Stan cries out.

A chorus of 'Happy Birthday' follows me into the kitchen. Inside, a lighted birthday cake is waiting for me. Even drunk, Stan takes his party planning seriously.

"Make a wish!" I hear Wendy say.

Blushing from the attention, I comply.

_Please, please, please, let me get what I want…_

I puff at the candles and extinguish every last one.

…_Lord knows it would be the first time._

"To the birthday boy!" Stan yells, passing out shots of…something. The crowd in the kitchen completes the toast (it was more tequila), but out of the corner of my eye, I notice Kenny isn't participating. Come to think of it, I haven't noticed him drinking for a while…

_Since when does Kenny limit his alcohol intake?_

"Let's play flip cup next!" Stan shouts, mobilizing the group back into the living room to play another drinking game, leaving me and Kenny in the kitchen.

"Hey, Kenny, are you… are you okay?" I question.

He smiles. "Hell, yeah. Great party by the way," he pats me on my back before retreating to the living room.

I'm completely confused, but then again Kenny is always an enigma. I snicker over this fact before following Kenny to join the group.

* * *

Flip cup is also a big hit at the party, given that it is played for the next two hours or so. I'm casually observing the game from the couch where I'm talking with Jimmy.

"Keg stands!" Craig suddenly cries out. "Wendy, you're first!"

Everyone looks over Wendy, egging her on. She had been in a conversation with Nelly.

"Shit, let's go!" she fearlessly accepts. As she heads outside with the group, I have to admit her boldness is a major turn-on.

Once everyone is assembled outside, myself included, I notice someone very important is missing.

_Where is Stan? Is he passed out already?!_

"Okay Wendy, are ya ready?" Craig asks impatiently.

Wendy grabs a hold of the handles on the keg, and nods her head in approval. Since Stan isn't there to lift Wendy, I grab hold of one of her ankles instead while Jason grabs the other. As we lever her into a vertical position, the crowd around the keg begins to cheer. Craig is holding the nozzle on the keg hose, and places it to Wendy's mouth. We start to count as she chugs the beer, and I instinctively place my spare hand on her hip to steady her. In her upside-down position, her sweater creeps down her torso, exposing the smooth skin of her stomach and, if you look hard enough, the hints of a red bra. I don't think I'm the only guy at the party enjoying the unabated view down Wendy's shirt. Clyde is openly gawking. After a laudable count of ten seconds, she kicks her legs a bit, signaling that she's ready to come down.

Friends pat her on the back as she wipes spilled beer from her cheek…still laughing, she turns in my direction, but doesn't look at me. I can't help but observe her…she's looks so _happy_, and honestly I think I enjoy this view more than the view down her shirt.

* * *

The party continues into the late hours of the night, though it gets markedly quieter as the night progresses. Much of it is a blur. I'm definitely drunk, and I haven't even been playing the drinking games. It's probably about 4 a.m. when I decide that it is extremely important to find out how drunk Wendy is…we did make a bet before the party, after all.

I head into the kitchen to look for her and am quite pleased that she is in there—alone—cleaning up.

"What're you doin?" I ask her. "You don't have ta do that."

"I know, but I didn't wanna leave you with a mess t'morrow," she smiles.

"Nah, that's okay, you can stop now," I say as I lean against the counter for stability.

She puts down the roll of paper towels she was holding and stumbles over to me.

Things are fuzzy, but I still have enough wits to know that Wendy doesn't have to be standing so close to me. We are both leaning against the counter, sort of overlapping each other, with Wendy's left arm and side touching my right side.

"Are ya havin' a good time?" I ask her.

"Yeah, definitely," she slurs.

"Ya know, Wendy, our bet's still on…what shot do'ya want now?" I smirk.

Instead of an answer, she suddenly turns to face me, purposely pinning me against the counter. She has a mischievous look in her eyes.

"Kyle, are you still tryin' ta get me drunk?" she coos seductively.

Wendy has me cornered, her hands bracing the tiled countertop on either side of me. Suddenly, things don't seem so fuzzy. I can keenly smell the nuances of her sweet floral perfume and her alcoholic breath, and I'm very cognizant of how close her body is to mine; as a result of our similar heights, her pelvic bones are pressed directly into my crotch. She makes no attempt to move back. If I wasn't so drunk, I might be afraid she would awaken the tenant who resides behind my zipper, but luckily he drunker than I.

Her unwavering eyes stare into mine playfully, as if daring me to challenge my current state of imprisonment. God, those eyes. God, that smile. God, those _hips_. It's almost _too_ intense. Wendy finally breaks the staring contest with a giggle and rests her forehead against my chest as she continues to laugh. I laugh too, but only because I'm grateful for the respite from that…_force_.

"What's up guys?" a voice startles me from the entrance of the kitchen. I see Kenny's messy blonde hair as he casually approaches us.

Wendy pulls away from me quickly, a slight blush to her face.

I realize how bad that must have looked.

"Heya Kenny; uh, Kyle? I'm gonna use your bathroom. I'll be right back," Wendy says after clearing her throat.

"Sure," I say as nonchalantly as possible.

"Okay, Wendy," Kenny dismisses her.

"S'where's Cartman?" I ask once Wendy leaves, in an attempt to change the subject.

"I think he left with Patty a while ago to go to Waffle House…" Kenny cautiously answers.

"Patty Nelson?" I ask, surprised. Cartman's been after her for _years._

Kenny nods his head in confirmation.

I reflect on this for a moment before getting back on track.

"Whaddabout Stan?" I ask, realizing I still haven't seen him since before the keg stands.

"He's passed out upstairs."

"Oh. Who else is still here?" I ask.

"Ummm…Craig and Clyde are still here, and so are Heidi and Lola…I think they're all outside smoking. Token's watching TV in the living room. Uh, I think Butters is asleep behind the couch. Dude, someone dropped some wine or something next to your coffee table…you might want to put something on that." Kenny pauses, "And you might want to back off from Wendy for the rest of the night. You're acting like an asshole."

I feel my face flush at his last comment. "Huh? What d'ya mean? Nah, we're just kiddin' around; we're just friends," I ramble.

Kenny looks at me with a serious I-don't-think-so face. "Wanna bet on that?"

"Why're you acting so weird tonight, Kenny?" I ask equally serious, examining him for clues.

Just then, Wendy comes down the stairs and into the kitchen. "Is Stan still here?" she asks us.

"I think he's passed out upstairs," I answer. "Do'ya wanna stay here tonight? You can stay with Stan in my room."

"Ummm…maybe…Cartman's not here still, is he?! He _was_ my ride…" she says looking around the room.

"I will take you home Wendy," Kenny firmly interjects. "I was just about to leave. I stopped drinking hours ago," he adds as an afterthought.

"Oh, ummm…okay Kenny. Thanks," Wendy says as if she's not entirely sure she is grateful.

"No problem," Kenny replies as he jangles his keys in his hand. "Ready to go then?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Great. Happy birthday Kyle; talk to you tomorrow," Kenny says as he walks towards the front door.

Wendy faces me and smiles. "Happy birthday Kyle!" she enthuses before kissing my cheek and wrapping me in a hug. This hug feels different than the one this afternoon. This one is much tighter, yet more…tender. I feel those hip bones pressed against my pelvis again…

She releases her hold on me, and she looks in my eyes before tucking a piece of silky hair behind her ear. For some reason I feel weak-kneed.

Wendy turns and follows Kenny towards the open door where he is quietly observing. He hands her his keys.

"Go ahead and go sit in my car. It's the orange Ford. I'll be right out," he instructs.

She obliges, stumbling away. I try to force myself not to watch her from behind as she leaves, but the alcohol has interfered with my willpower. Kenny approaches me again as my weak knees finally cause me to collapse against the kitchen counter. I catch myself just in time.

"I think I might have won the bet," he smirks as he looks down upon me. "Both of them."

* * *

After Kenny leaves, I dismiss the rest of my guests, save Butters, who is still asleep behind the couch. I'm still trying to figure out why Kenny was being so cryptic as I plod upstairs to check the status of my bedroom. It's definitely in worse shape than I left it. Stan's disheveled person is strewn across my bed…drooling on my pillow. It sort of smells like…piss or something in here. I stumble around, trying to find the source of the stench and also checking for any other refugees in my room. I find neither. I decide to deal with the mess upstairs and downstairs in the morning.

Since Stan has usurped my bed, I grab an extra pillow and blanket from my closet and create a makeshift bed on the floor. I lay there, but can't sleep. I turn on my stomach. I feel the pressure of the floor against my pelvic bones, and am reminded again of Wendy.

_I really need to stop this. Kenny was right; I was flirting. I wonder if Stan noticed._

I groan as I quickly turn over again. I eventually drift asleep, but my dreams are not sound.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: More plot development here. I expect the story to get juicier soon. Thanks for sticking with me on this--I'm still not sure how long this story will become. **

* * *

Chapter 3:

I wake up the next morning with a mild headache and a dry mouth, but I'm not nearly as hung-over as I would have expected to be on the morning after my 21st birthday party. I sit up from my improvised bed and survey the room. I notice my real bed is empty and sloppily made. Stan must be already downstairs—I didn't even hear him get up.

"I wonder if Butters is still here?" I question aloud as I pull myself off the floor.

I make my way downstairs, grabbing a big glass of water and a few ibuprofens from the kitchen before heading into the living room. I can hear Butter's voice reverberating in the small space, answering the question I posed to myself earlier. Given this, I'm not surprised when I enter the living room to see Stan sitting on the couch, rubbing his temple with a pained expression.

"Hey guys, how're you feeling today?" I ask.

Stan merely grunts, still rubbing his head.

"Happy Birthday Kyle! I feel great, thanks!" Butters exclaims.

"Aren't you hung-over Butters?" I ask him.

"Well, no. Not really. I just had three beers all night," Butters explains.

"Then why the hell did you pass out?!" I ask in surprise.

"Well, last night I started feelin' kinda sleepy, and all, and it just looked so cozy behind this couch here. It was two in the mornin'!" he defends.

"Wait –why didn't you sleep _on_ the couch?" I ask confusedly.

"Well, gee, it just didn't look as cozy," Butters answers, as if this should go without saying.

Instead of trying to figure out Butter's motives, I turn my attention to the more logical person in the room.

"You okay, Stan?" I ask him

"Yeah. Yeah, I just have a killer headache. I'll just need to lie in bed today," he winces.

"Well, I can take you home then," I offer.

"Kyle, let me help you clean up first," Stan demands.

"No way dude—you look like you can barely stand up right now," I observe. "Actually, do you want to just stay here and go back up to my bed?" I suggest.

"_No_. Jesus, I've spent way too much time in your bed already," Stan says in a surprisingly adamant tone. Probably realizing this, his face softens slightly. "Just give me a few minutes, and then can you take me home?" he asks more gently.

"And me too?" Butters interjects.

"Butters, how did you get here?" I ask, turning back to him.

"I took the bus."

"The bus?" I question.

"Well, I knew that I'd be drinkin', and all…and my parents say you're not supposed to drink and drive. I was hopin' someone would take me home last night. Aw, if it's too much trouble, I can take the bus back," Butters says apologetically.

"No Butters, it's fine; I'm taking Stan home anyway. I'll drop you off at your dorm after I take him home, okay?" I offer.

"Gee, thanks Kyle!" Butter's smile brightens.

On the drive home I almost wish I could drop Butters off first, as he won't stop his inane chatter about things such as rubber bands and mozzarella sticks, but I don't think Stan could endure the extra trip to Butter's dorm. As it is, we have to pull over once for Stan to puke. This is practically the only noise Stan makes the entire trip home. Once we arrive at Stan's place, I ask Butters to wait in the car as I walk with Stan up to his apartment. Cartman's not inside, which is probably a good thing for Stan's headache. However, I was sort of hoping Cartman _would_ be home, so I could find out how he managed to leave with Patty Nelson last night. I don't know how the fatass pulled _that_ off. Shit, maybe he's with her right now?

My Cartman-centric thoughts are cut off when Stan speaks to me for the first time since we left my place.

"Do you know how Wendy got home last night?" he asks me with a blank face.

My breath catches slightly at the mention of her name, but not enough to warrant any suspicion from my friend.

"Kenny took her home around 4:30 since you were passed out," I say, pleased at how composed my reply came out.

"Did she seem okay?"

"She was a bit drunk, but she seemed fine. Why?" I ask.

"I didn't get to say bye to her, is all. I noticed you guys were talking a lot last night, and I figured you would know," he says coolly.

_Damn. So he _did _notice…_

"Yeah, she was fine," I repeat, a little less confidently than I would have liked.

Stan merely nods his head in acknowledgment and starts walking towards his bedroom slowly. "I'm gonna lie down now."

I stay only a moment more, relieved that Stan is finished asking questions about Wendy. I mean, not that I really have anything to hide. But the tone in Stan's voice was sort of _weird_ just now, and it was kind of making me uncomfortable.

After finally dropping Butters off at his dorm, I head back home to start cleaning up. The drive back is short, but in the absence of company I can't stop thinking about last night, specifically my interaction with Wendy. While nothing happened last night, _something_ happened. I can't really explain it—Wendy and I have always had a healthy rapport fueled by our competitive natures, but last night the dynamic was _different_. There was something extra there. And it wasn't just me—I know she could feel it too. What did it mean? Whatever it was, I have to do a better job at not letting it affect me like that again.

As soon as I step in the door, my cell phone rings. It's my parents and my brother, calling to wish me a 'quick' happy birthday, although the conversations last almost an hour. I've barely started scrubbing the wine stain out of my carpet when I'm disturbed again, this time by a knock at the door.

"Who the hell is it now?" I grumble as I check my phone for any missed messages. There are no missed calls, and I'm certainly not expecting anybody.

_At this rate I'll never get this place straightened up!_

Getting up from my uncomfortable kneeling position on the floor, I stiffly walk over to the front door just as my visitor knocks again.

"I'm coming!" I growl as I swing open the door in frustration.

My mood immediately changes from one of irritation to one of surprise when I see Wendy on the porch step. My mind searches for a reason she might be here. She looks flabbergasted by my gruff greeting, but otherwise she appears cleaned up from last night. She's wearing long-sleeved blue dress with a pair of boots, and her long hair is flowing down her back. I can't help wishing that I had taken a shower this morning; I must look like an unkempt mess. I drag my fingers through my hair self-consciously.

"Oh, hey Wendy, sorry about that. Is everything alright?" I ask.

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just think I left my phone at your place last night," she explains cautiously.

"Oh," I reply succinctly. That would explain why she didn't call first. "Come on in, we'll look for it."

"Thanks," she smiles.

As we step inside, I remember that not only am I still a mess from last night, but so is my apartment.

"Sorry it's still so messy in here," I apologize.

"Why don't you let me help you clean up?" Wendy offers. "I made some of this mess too."

"Eh, don't worry about it," I shrug off.

"Kyle, I can't just leave it like this," she insists.

"Okay, fine," I relent. "Thanks," I add with a smile.

"No problem," she says sweetly. "Let me just make sure my phone is here first and then we can clean."

"So, uh, where should we start looking?" I ask. "Do you know where you last saw your phone? I haven't seen it anywhere today…I guess we'll find it as we clean," I ramble absentmindedly as I start to peer around the ping pong table.

"Uh, I was thinking you could call my phone from yours?" Wendy says, more like a question than a statement. "That way, we'll hear the ring tone and it'll be easier to find."

"Oh, yeah. I didn't think of that," I say while silently scolding myself for not coming up with such an obvious idea first.

She giggles as I reach into my pocket to retrieve my phone.

I grab my phone and scroll down to her name in the directory. Upon seeing 'Wendy' in the display, I smile. I remember when I changed her name in my phone from 'Wendy T' to just 'Wendy.' It was actually a quite humorous story…

"Kyle? You still have my number, right?" Wendy interrupts my train of thought with an air of uncertainty.

I look up from my phone and at Wendy. "Yeah, I was just thinking about the time you got mad at me for having your last initial in my phone," I laugh.

Wendy grins. "Well, the initial is so impersonal! Besides, I'm the only Wendy you know! I have you listed in my phone as just 'Kyle,' and I even have _two_ Kyles in my phone! The other one gets the initial!" she defends.

"Har har," I fake laugh. "Don't worry—I got rid of the 'T' after you have me hell for it. But why do you have my cousin's number in your phone anyhow?"

"Because he stood there and watched me program it in the last time he was in town," she says emphatically. "Your cousin is kinda weird, if you didn't know."

"Well you could have erased it," I remind her.

"Tell you what, that's the first thing I'll do if I find my phone," she smirks.

"Well, let's see if it's here," I say as I finally push the call button.

Suddenly I hear a muffled ring coming from somewhere around the couch. We both hurry over to the seeming origination of the noise. I start looking between the cushions as she kneels down and reaches under the couch.

"Got it!" she cries gleefully, dragging her phone from under the couch and raising it like a trophy. She flips her phone open to examine it.

"First things first," she says as she begins to poke at the keypad.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm deleting Kyle S. from my contact list!" she laughs.

"A huge sacrifice, of course," I tease her.

Wendy doesn't respond; instead, she is still looking at her phone. "Looks like Stan called about an hour ago too; did you hear it earlier?"

"He must have called before I got back from taking him home."

"I guess so," she mumbles. "Hey—are you hungry?" she suddenly looks at me.

"I'm getting there," I answer, even though I haven't been able to think about food since seeing Stan puke on the side of the road this morning. As a matter of fact, my stomach feels like it's doing flip-flops, and it seems to have gotten worse since Wendy came over...

"I'm getting hungry too," she says. "We should get something to eat after we're done cleaning. I mean, that is, if you're not doing anything else for your birthday today," she backtracks.

"No, I don't have much planned for today. I sorta did all my celebrating last night," I shrug.

"Really?" she asks. "But it's Saturday."

"Well my usual Saturday is hanging out with you and Stan."

"Oh, right," she says. "Well, let me call Stan back to see if he can come to lunch with us."

_Right. We should call Stan. But you know, he is really hung-over; maybe it would be alright if he didn't come this time…_

"Yeah, give him a call," I say, repressing my conflicting thoughts.

She hits a button and places the phone up to her ear.

"Hey Stan, how are you? …Yeah, I'm a little hung-over too! …Oh. …Yeah, sorry, I left my phone at Kyle's. …Uh huh …I'm still at his place. …Yeah, I'm with Kyle. …Listen, we were thinking about getting something to eat in a little while, do you want to come with us? …Oh, you're that sick? …Do you want me to go over there? …Are you sure? You sound really weird…Well I guess you're right, it_ is _his birthday…Maybe we can all hang out later?...You don't think you'll feel better in a few hours? Wow, you _are_ sick…Well, I guess just call me if you need anything…Okay. Bye."

She hangs up while I try to ignore the slight sense of relief I'm feeling.

"He's pretty sick, so he said we should just go ahead without him," she reports.

"Yeah, he puked when I was taking him home this morning," I inform her.

She's still looking at the phone in her hand confusedly.

"He sounded terrible," she says softly.

"It was a pretty bad hangover," I reiterate.

"Must be." Wendy slowly walks over to the ping pong table to collect old cups as I resume my post at the wine-stained carpet.

"So, where are your trash bags?" she asks me, changing the subject.

"In the kitchen, under the sink," I respond.

She nods as she heads into the kitchen.

After she leaves the room, I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. I realize I've been holding my breath for most of the last ten minutes. Why do I feel nervous? _She's already getting to you_! _Hold it together…it's just Wendy_!

I feel slightly calmer from my internal pep-talk as Wendy walks back into the living room. She starts scooping up random bits of trash into her bag.

"I hope I didn't act too stupid last night. I was pretty drunk," she says as she continues cleaning.

"Yeah, I think we both were," I laugh nervously. _Where is she going with this?_

"To be honest, I don't remember a lot of it," she says matter-of-factly.

For some reason, this statement catches me off guard. Does she not remember our interaction at all last night? For me, it's tattooed on my memory, or my pelvis, I should say.

"That's probably a good thing," I respond, trying to mask the disappointment in my voice.

Wendy puts her near-full garbage bag to the side as she sits down to start dismantling the ping pong table. I'm still working on that damn stain…

"Ouch!" she suddenly cries, jerking her hand back.

"Are you okay?" I jump up from my spot on the floor to check on her.

"Yeah, I just got my fingers caught in the folding legs," she cringes, shaking her injured hand in pain.

"Here, let me see," I say, stooping over to grab her flailing hand in order to examine it. There is some broken skin on her finger, but it is not bleeding. "I think it will be fine," I assure her.

"How come I can score a 720 on my GRE, but I can't fold a table?" she laughs embarrassed.

"It's okay; I wasn't clever enough to think of calling your phone from mine earlier. I don't think any less of you if you don't think any less of me," I say sincerely.

"Thanks Kyle," she smiles, looking into my eyes thoughtfully.

We continue standing there, her hand resting in mine as if I were still inspecting her injury. Instead, I'm admiring how smooth her skin feels...

After a moment, Wendy gingerly takes her hand back. Her eyes are still locked on mine. "I guess we should finish cleaning now," she says, taking a deep breath with her words.

"Mmmm," I hum my concurrence as the feeling of her soft skin fades from my sense of tactition.

She pauses a moment before attempting to fold the ping pong table again. I watch her complete the task without incident before I head back over to that indelible wine stain from hell.

After about 30 minutes my apartment is only one vacuuming away from looking perfect. I even managed to conquer that fucking wine stain.

"Well, the apartment looks pretty good—do you want to get lunch now?" Wendy asks me after surveying the room.

Though my apartment looks good, I realize that I certainly do not.

"Actually, do you mind if I jump in the shower real quick?" I ask sheepishly. "It'll only take like 10 minutes."

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure. No problem," she says, somewhat flustered. "I'll just wait down here," she continues, taking a seat on the couch quickly.

"Great," I smile before I start to head upstairs to my bathroom.

As I'm showering, I feel awkward knowing that I'm currently naked as Wendy waits downstairs. Though I know she's sitting contently on my couch, I can't help glancing through the glass shower doors at the bathroom entrance.

_Suddenly, the door creaks open. Through the steamy shower door, I can discern Wendy's figure slinking in. Without a word she seductively strolls over to me, and slides open the shower door. I'm too entranced by her mischievous grin to feel self-conscious by my state of undress. Slowly, she pulls her dress over her head. I gasp as I realize she's completely naked underneath her clothes. _

At this moment I pull myself out of my daydream because I realize that I'm getting turned on. I quickly turn the water temperature to its coldest setting and make myself think of disgusting images (Cartman eating barbecue usually works)_,_ because not only is it completely wrong for me to jack off to Stan's girlfriend, but it is even worse when she's downstairs waiting on me to get ready.

Fortunately, I finish my shower without having to finish myself.

I feel pretty embarrassed when I finally go back downstairs. Apparently, I need to give myself another pep-talk because I'm doing a _terrible_ job of holding it together around Wendy.

"Ready to go?" I ask her, forcing myself to suppress the imagery I conjured up in the shower.

"I can't wait," she answers as she stands up. She takes a moment to smooth down the blue fabric covering her hips. And with that simple act, I'm once again wondering what she's really wearing under that dress.

And this is the first moment when I realize that this lunch date might be a bad idea.


	4. Chapter 4

**I just want to reiterate how grateful I am for the reviews. It's nice to know how this story is being perceived by others because it's often very different from what I anticipate.** **It's definitely giving me inspiration and helping me to write. **

* * *

**Chapter 4**

As I drive Wendy downtown to the restaurant we decided upon, I take advantage of the silence in the car to reflect on my situation. Okay, so I'm attracted to Wendy. My little daydream in the shower proved _that_ loud and clear. But that shouldn't be_ too_ surprising; I mean–I've always thought she was attractive. So when did it go from just finding her attractive to being attracted to her? Was it always there and I just didn't recognize it until now? Did Wendy do something to provoke it? I guess she _was _flirting with me last night…was that the catalyst? And does it matter that she doesn't even remember doing it? Honestly, I don't know how to analyze it. Well, whatever is going on here, I am determined to make it through this lunch without making the situation more confusing. I will overcome this.

I look over at Wendy, who is staring out of the passenger side window. With a furrowed brow, she appears to be deep in thought over something. She notices me glancing at her and turns toward me. Her serious expression fading, she smiles warmly at me and I flash a friendly smile back. Yes, I can do this; I can be _friendly_. No more flirting, and definitely no more fantasies.

This is all the silence I'm granted for thinking, as Wendy starts commenting on the sunny weather. Nice friendly conversation for two friends. As it should be.

We soon arrive at the restaurant and are quickly greeted by an overly-cheerful hostess, probably a college student herself. After we're seated at a table for two, I realize this is the first time Wendy and I have ever gone out to eat together, just the two of us, without the omnipresent Stan. But hey, friends go out to lunch together all the time, right? I wonder if the hostess thinks we're a couple. Maybe I should scoot my chair a little further out just in case…

While Wendy commences looking at the menu quietly, I take a moment to look around the restaurant. It's a little after the prime lunch hour, but the restaurant is still fairly crowded. Waiters and waitresses are bustling around, trays in hand, while patrons merrily chat at the tables and booths throughout the room. There is a sports game on the television above the bar, which elicits an intermittent cheer from the bar rats with their chicken wings and beer. It's a very_ casual_ environment. Perfect.

An older waitress approaches our table, notepad in hand. "Can I get you two started with something to drink?" she asks us with a smile.

"Kyle, you should order a beer!" Wendy suddenly speaks up. "It's his 21st birthday today," she explains to the waitress.

Although I'm only slightly hung-over, I'm still not exactly in the mood for drinking yet. But for some reason when Wendy proposes a beer, it seems like a challenge. And I've never been able to resist her challenges. "Okay, but only if you have one too."

"IDs please?" the waitress asks. As I request my preferred beer, I pull out my wallet and incidentally start to slip my fake ID out from one of the sleeves. Luckily, I catch myself just in time, stifling a laugh while Wendy orders her drink.

_What a dumbass I am…_ I think to myself, finally sliding out my real ID and presenting it to our waitress.

The waitress studies Wendy's ID first and then mine. She scrutinizes mine for a moment before handing it back. "Happy birthday," she smiles before walking away to get our drinks.

Once the waitress is safely away, I confess my near-error to Wendy. "I almost showed her my fake ID out of habit!"

"You did not!" she snorts, rolling her eyes at me.

"I did! I wonder what I should do with it now? I guess Ike will be starting college soon—I could always give it to him."

"Ike doesn't look anything like you in your fake ID," Wendy says casually while returning her eyes to the menu again. "Give him some better hair and a cuter nose, and then it might work," she continues while still looking over the food choices.

_Wait! Did she just say I had good hair and a cute nose? _

The only response I can manage is a forced laugh while I simultaneously try to decide if her words have sabotaged my thus-far _friendly_ lunch. Was her comment considered… _flirting_?? She didn't say it flirtatiously...she said it more like a statement of fact than anything else. And she certainly didn't blush or anything after saying it. She didn't even _look at me_ while she said it. I suppose it's alright for friends to compliment each other… So, I think no harm done here.

_Except for the fact that I'm totally overanalyzing everything and driving myself crazy._

I sigh to myself as I begin look over the menu. I _am_ trying way too hard with this 'just friends' stuff. What I need to do is stop thinking so much and relax. I take a moment to clear my head before scanning the menu again. Luckily, the restaurant serves pretty typical lunch fare and it doesn't take me long to decide on a choice.

The waitress returns with our beers and takes our food order. With my new goal of relaxation, I am definitely glad I ordered that beer now, and I take a large gulp as soon as the waitress sets it down. The waitress looks at me for a moment and tells me to 'pace, yourself tiger,' as she heads away toward the kitchen.

Wendy snickers at the waitress's comment before speaking again.

"Token's band has a show at the Imperial in a couple weeks. Are you going?" she asks me before taking a sip of her draft beer.

"Oh yeah, I heard about that. Um, I'll probably go unless something comes up. You?"

Wendy nods. "I do have a paper due that Monday, but I think I'll probably make it out anyway since pretty much everyone is going," she says.

"Another paper, huh? Tough semester so far?" I ask her.

"Yeah, it's been kinda hectic actually. In addition to all this homework, I've got to present an award and give a speech for one of my groups in a few weeks and I haven't even started preparing for that." She pauses to take another sip. "I'm definitely going to enjoy my summer off before starting grad school here. Speaking of which, have you decided if you're doing grad school here or somewhere else?"

"I've gotten a few acceptance letters to other places. I kind of agree with you though. I mean—I know it's not Ivy League here or anything, but I like it. And all my friends live here," I reply.

Okay. This is better. With this conversation, it's finally starting to feel normal again. I was really starting to panic a little while ago. Wendy really is a great friend. Just like Stan is a great friend. So what if I'm cognizant of an attraction to her? I would hate to fuck up both of my great friendships because of a little sexual tension.

"Good. Hey–I'll be right back. Excuse me," Wendy says as she starts to stand up from our table.

Due to my recent track record, I turn my head towards the sports game on at the bar to avoid any temptation of watching Wendy walk away. It works like a charm. God, I'm doing _so_ good right now!

I continue watching the game, smug smile plastered on my face, very satisfied with myself indeed. _I knew I could do this_.

Not too long after Wendy returns to our table, our waitress brings us our food. She asks if we want another beer, but luckily Wendy declines, so I don't feel bad doing the same.

Wendy and I continue our casual conversation while working on our sandwiches.

Suddenly, I hear a group of waitresses singing a proprietary version of the happy birthday song. I look up to see our waitress carrying over a slice a cake with a single candle in it. Once the song is finished and the chocolate cake is set down in front of me, I look across the table to Wendy. She is beaming so brightly it almost competes with the lighted candle on the cake. I'm so transfixed by this comparison I don't even realize I'm blowing the candle out.

The wait staff applauds and walks away, leaving me with a smiling Wendy and a piece of birthday cake.

"Want some?" I ask her, and hand her a fork.

"Thanks," she answers, accepting the utensil.

We both stab at the cake with our forks and have a taste. The chocolate is really rich, but tastes delicious. I take another bite.

Wendy looks at me and smiles. "Kyle, you've got some frosting on your…" she laughs while reaching towards me. My posture stiffens as she leans into me, eyes focused on my mouth as if she was leaning in for a kiss. It seems like she's moving in slow motion. Suddenly, her hand pauses an inch from my mouth and her fingers retract. She bites her lower lip and withdraws her hand. "It's right here," she says softly while gesturing to her own face near her lips. But rather than gazing at the offending spot on my face, her eyes are locked on my own.

I awkwardly swipe at my mouth, and break away from her stare to inspect my hand. Sure enough, the smallest bit of chocolate frosting is left on my finger. I look at the traces of chocolate with exaggerated blinks before returning my attention back to Wendy.

"Got it…" she murmurs, still looking intensely into my eyes. Finally, she takes a deep breath and looks away toward the center of the restaurant. I also take a deep breath at this time because I realize I had been holding my breath and my lungs were burning.

_Okay, so what the hell just happened there?!_ Just when I think I feel normal, she goes and does _that_. Why does this sort of thing keep happening?

There is an air of awkwardness about our table, at least to me, when our waitress returns with our check. Before I can take the black folder from its resting spot on the table, Wendy snatches it up first.

"My treat. Happy birthday," she says as she reaches into her purse for her wallet.

"Wendy…" I start to warn.

"No, I insist," she says stubbornly, but with a smile.

"Well thank you very much," I say gratefully. _What a nice gesture…_

"Not a problem," she says, still rummaging through her purse, although her wallet is already in her hand. She looks perplexed when she finally looks up to me. "You know what? I think I left my phone in your apartment again," she laughs.

"Good thing we have to go back there anyway," I laugh. "I hope this doesn't become a habit with you!"

"Don't lie; you know you love having me come over," she kids, but for some reason, neither of us laugh at her joke.

After settling our bill, Wendy and I walk back to my car in silence. Wendy appears to be looking up towards the unusually blue sky when my cell phone rings. Out of curiosity, I check to see who it is. It's Kenny. I decide to take the call.

"Hey Kenny," I greet.

"Hey dude, just checking in. What are you doing?" Kenny's ebullient voice asks over the phone.

"Umm…I just got finished eating," I say.

"Oh, are ya with Stan? How's he feeling today?" Kenny asks.

"No, I'm not with Stan, but I was earlier. He's pretty hung-over," I report.

"That figures. You at home?" he laughs.

"No," I answer pithily.

Wendy touches my arm to get my attention. "Who is it?" she inquires.

"Kenny," I mouth silently to answer her question. Wendy nods in acknowledgment.

"I hear someone in the background, who are you with?" Kenny suddenly asks.

"Wendy came over because she left her phone at my place, and we stopped to get something to eat," I respond straightforwardly.

"What?! You're with _Wendy _right now?" Kenny asks incredulously, his volume noticeably increased.

"Uh, yeah…?" I answer meekly, moving the phone from my ear an inch to offset his loudness.

"What are you doing Kyle??" he asks in a disapproving tone.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I look over at Wendy, but she doesn't appear to be listening too closely to my conversation.

"Kyle, she talked about you the whole drive home last night," he says, as if this should explain his displeasure.

"So?" I respond, losing my patience. With my suddenly terse tone, Wendy looks over at me quizzically.

"I'm serious dude. I saw you guys at your party. What's going on with you two?" Kenny demands.

_Right, like I can talk to Kenny about Wendy while she's standing right next to me. _

"Listen Kenny, I gotta go. I'll call you later," I say distractedly. Wendy and I are back at my car and she's waiting on me to unlock the door.

"Kyle!" I hear Kenny yell as I summarily end the call. He's totally overreacting, but I'm not really in a position to have a discussion about it right now. Luckily, he doesn't call back and I drive Wendy back to my place without any further interruptions.

* * *

Once we're back at my apartment, I let Wendy inside so she can retrieve her phone…_again_. However, instead of simply collecting her phone and leaving, she sits down on my couch tiredly. Taking her cue, I take a seat beside her.

"Last night must be catching up with me now—I'm exhausted!" she smiles at me.

"Yeah me too!" I concur. "Thanks again for lunch and helping me clean up earlier."

"No problem. I had a nice day with you today," she smiles.

"Yeah, it's been a great birthday," I say as I lean back into the couch.

"I had a really good time with you last night too," she says more quietly, looking down into her lap.

I chuckle. "I thought you didn't remember last night," I tease.

"Well, that's not entirely true…I do remember the good parts," she looks seriously at me.

With that statement, I suddenly notice our thighs are touching as we sit juxtaposed on the couch. I don't remember consciously sitting that close to her…

"Did you get everything you wanted for your birthday?" she asks me softly, turning her upper body to face mine.

"Well, no," I quietly respond. "Not everything." I turn toward her. Now we're both facing each other, but we're still so close…

At this very moment a perfect storm of ambivalence is crusading inside my head. One, I'm cursing myself for being in this situation with my best friend's girlfriend despite all my precautions earlier today. But at the same time the moment feels perfectly predestined, and I can not imagine being anywhere else.

So when Wendy leans in and kisses me, I selfishly kiss her back. At first, the kiss is almost like a question…it's a gentle kiss…there is no rushing, no urgency; just the sensation of soft lips teasing mine. However, the kiss soon changes as she shifts her body weight on top of me. This kiss is more adamant, more primal. It is _this _kiss that scares me, and presumably her, because after a few seconds she abruptly pulls away and retreats to the other end of the couch.

We look at each other incredulously for a moment before Wendy breaks the trance and jumps up. "I'm _so_ sorry, Kyle…I've got to go now." Face bright red, she grabs her purse, remembering to grab her phone along with it, and rushes out my front door without saying another word. I don't even attempt to get up to follow her. I can't. I'm too busy burying my head into the couch cushion.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry if this is going really slow; I know the story timeline so far has barely spanned 24 hours. I promise the pace will quicken. However, I'm still thinking this will be a longer story, so patience might be required. Thanks!! Oh, and I know the whole frosting-on-the-face-here-let-me-get-that-for-you is pretty cliche, but I guess I watched too many soap operas growing up. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

I'm lying on my bed with an open textbook in an attempt to accomplish some evening studying. But instead of memorizing the words in my book, my mind keeps wandering to another topic: Wendy. I haven't seen or spoken to her at all during the five days that have lapsed since our little…encounter. I expected to at least run into her on campus, but that never happened. I think she's avoiding me, which is probably for the best.

_I can't believe I kissed my best friend's girlfriend. I deserve to die. _

But I have to say that I liked it. No, that's not true: I fucking loved it. And as I recall that Wendy was flirting with me, and that she kissed me first, I can't help but feel elated before my guilt kicks back in. I have no choice but to admit it to myself. Something that I said would never happen happened; I'm falling for Wendy Testaburger. My best friend's girl. And I think the feeling's mutual.

It's the tacit rule of friendship: bros before hos. So how did I get myself into this mess? Or is it true that you can't help who you're attracted to?

That kiss is basically all I've been able to think about. I finally shut my textbook—studying is pointless. My ability to concentrate is shot. I don't know what to do. I've already decided that Stan can _never_ know about the kiss. Obviously I can't tell Cartman anything confidential. But do I confide in Kenny? And how should I act the next time I see Wendy? How is _she_ going to act the next time I see her? And is it terrible that I'm looking forward to seeing her?

It's amazing how a single act can have me vacillating between euphoria and shame. And to exacerbate my waves of guilt, Stan has being acting strange around me these last few days. To be honest, I haven't seen him much this week either. But when I _have_ seen him, he's been quiet and moody, like he was the day after the party. It's not like Kenny to rat on his friends, but I can't help but wonder if he said anything to Stan. And even if Kenny did mention his suspicions to Stan, there's no way Stan could know about the kiss…_could he_?!

* * *

Exactly one week after my birthday party, Stan and Kenny are over at my apartment, playing video games and drinking. It's a pretty typical Friday night, except that Cartman's noticeably absent. Apparently, he really hit it off with Patty Nelson that night at my party, and blew us off to go on another date with the girl. Funny—I can't say I really miss his company.

Both of my guests are seated on my floor, in the midst of a two-player crime game which Kenny seems to be easily dominating. I'm not sure though…I'm not really paying too close of attention.

"Stan, you suck so hard at this game," Kenny teases. "You died again?"

"Oh, that's funny coming from you!" Stan answers sardonically. "Fuck it! I'm going to get a beer." He throws down the controller in contempt. "You guys want a drink?" he asks politely, getting up from the floor.

"Sure," Kenny answers, still proceeding with the game which suddenly becomes more interesting to me…

_You know, that game character sorta looks like Wendy…_

"Kyle?" Stan asks.

_Except Wendy's hair is a little longer…_

"Kyle!" Stan repeats. "Jesus!"

I finally realize that the noise coming from Stan's mouth is a question posed to me. "Oh! Sorry. Yeah, a beer would be great," I apologize, feeling slightly guilty about the reason for my distraction.

Stan gives me a frustrated look before walking into the kitchen. A minute later he comes back with three beers and distributes them without a word. He promptly sits down on the couch next to me, letting Kenny continue the video game solo. There really hasn't been a lot said since they've been over, and I'm starting to feel awkward. I shift uncomfortably in my seat on the couch. After a few more moments of thick silence, I decide that I had better start some conversation.

"You guys going to Token's show next week?" I say the first thing that comes to mind.

"Yeah, I'm gonna invite Kelly," Kenny answers, his eyes still on the game. "You going with Wendy, Stan?" he asks.

"Guess so," Stan replies mechanically.

"So where is Wendy tonight?" I ask, not out of curiosity of course, but rather to simply keep the conversation going…

Stan suddenly scowls. "What's with these questions about Wendy? Do I have to know where she is all the time?" he says bitterly, then taking a swig of his beer. "What if I wanted it to be a guys' night tonight?"

"Sorry Stan, I was just _asking_. You don't have to get angry," I say, taken aback by Stan's harsh reaction. Did I say something wrong?

"I just don't see why it matters," Stan says resolutely.

"It's just, you know, she comes by with you sometimes. I was just wondering where she was…" I start, realizing this answer is probably not alleviating the growing tension.

"If you care so much where she is, why don't you call her and ask her over?" Stan continues, more upset now.

"Huh?!" I blurt confusedly. Where is this coming from?? Oh god, did Kenny say something…?! I look down at Kenny for any hint of betrayal, but he seems focused on the game and not the conversation.

"_I said_, if you'd rather hang out with her, just call her. Don't worry about me— I'm leaving now," he spits angrily as he puts his beer down and grabs his jacket.

"What the hell, Stan?!" I call out after him as he storms out of my apartment.

"What the hell is wrong with Stan?" I ask exasperatedly to no one in particular, though there's only me and Kenny left in the room. "Has he said anything to you?" I finally direct my question to Kenny.

"Maybe he's pissed that you're making out with his girlfriend," Kenny answers distractedly while still playing.

I feel like the air is sucked out of my lungs. Kenny knows?!

"What! You know about that?! You didn't say anything to him, did you?!" I ask, the fear palpable in my voice.

Kenny finally looks up from the game.

"First, I _didn't_ know that, but I guess I do now. Second, _no_, I didn't say anything. Third, you and Wendy weren't exactly being discreet the other night—it doesn't take a genius to figure it out," Kenny admonishes.

"Shit." I rake my hand through my hair.

"So you guys hooked up?" he asks me.

"No! We only just…kissed," I answer guiltily.

Kenny groans loudly. "Listen, I like Wendy, I do. But I won't like it if she leads you on while stringing Stan along for the ride," he says patronizingly.

"I _don't_ think that's what she's doing," I say defensively. He makes it sound like she's some kind of slut or something…

"No? Then why is she kissing you while she's still with Stan?" Kenny cocks his eyebrow at me.

"It wasn't like that!" I retort.

"Then enlighten me."

I sigh. "Wendy and me, we're good friends. We… click. Maybe in another time and place we could have made a hot couple. So yeah, we were flirting a bit. So yeah, maybe we kissed, but once we realized what we were doing, _we stopped_. It didn't last long. And I haven't talked to her since!" I explain. Kenny has to understand…

"Allow me to play devil's advocate a while longer," Kenny says.

"Jesus, Kenny!" I growl frustratingly.

Kenny raises his hand to silence me. "I want my friends to be happy. Well, _you're_ not happy, _Stan's_ obviously not happy, and I think this girl is the reason for it," he explains. "Did you notice how he blew up when you asked about her?"

I take in what Kenny's saying. It _was _odd how Stan's mood became so foul so suddenly.

"So what do you want me to do?" I ask him impatiently.

"I want you to do the right thing; now, what do _you_ want?"

I pause. "I don't know yet."

"Then I can't help you," Kenny says as he gets up and walks toward my front door. "Later."

After Kenny leaves and I'm left alone, I realize that's the third person in a week to rush out of my apartment like that. Fuck.

* * *

It's been a few days, but it still seems the only friend I have who isn't mad at me is Cartman. Of course, that's because he's been so busy with his new girlfriend that I haven't even seen him. As far as Kenny goes, I haven't spoken to him since he walked out of my apartment the other day. Stan _did_ call me yesterday to offer an apology for his outburst, but it didn't feel completely genuine. He certainly didn't express any desire to see me, and when I asked him if he wanted to hang out, he said he was going to be 'busy.' I'm pretty positive he suspects something, but he's not ready to approach me about it yet. Great. And though I've thought of little else, I still haven't gotten the courage to call Wendy, and she hasn't tried to contact me. Thus, I've spent the past few days alone. The alone time has given me ample opportunity to reflect on my situation: I'm falling for Wendy (and I think she likes me too); and Stan most likely knows and is probably planning ways to kill me. It's a lot to chew on. I need to find out exactly how much Stan knows so I can prepare myself for any confrontation. And other than Stan, there is only one person who might possess this information. I am well aware that it's a touchy subject, but I have to talk to Kenny. So that's how I ended up here, over at his apartment. I hope he's home. I probably should have called him first, but I was afraid he'd come up with an excuse not to talk to me.

I dial the apartment code on the call box and hear it begin to ring.

"Hello?" I recognize Kenny's voice through the speaker.

"Hey, Kenny, it's Kyle. I'm outside. Can I talk to you?"

Kenny doesn't reply, but I hear the unmistakable buzz of the front door unlocking. I quickly open the door and head down the dark hall to Kenny's apartment. It's not an awful apartment building that Kenny lives in, but much like our respective homes growing up, it is a little seedy in comparison to the rest of our residences. I think the rent is a lot more expensive than you would expect it to be as well.

I knock on Kenny's door which he opens immediately. "Hey dude," he greets quietly.

"Hey Kenny. Is Kevin here?" I inquire about his brother as I enter the apartment.

"Nope, he's at work," Kenny answers, closing the door behind me.

"Have you talked to Stan at all?" I ask, cutting to the chase.

"About what?" Kenny asks obtusely.

I huff at Kenny's attempt at playing dumb. "About why he's been acting so strange lately," I reply curtly. Isn't it obvious?

"Oh, that. Maybe," he replies coyly.

"Dude, Kenny, are you still mad at me?" I know his answer will probably be the affirmative, since it's not like Kenny to intentionally say stuff to piss me off. That's more Cartman's style.

Kenny looks at me sternly for a moment before relaxing his expression. "Nah, dude. But I do have my eye on you. I don't like what's going on here." Kenny takes a seat on his weathered couch before returning to my original question. "Yeah, I talked to Stan and tried to find out what's going on with him, but he blew me off. Something's definitely up with him though. I just don't know for sure what it is. But I could take a wild guess," he says, looking at me knowingly.

I take a seat beside Kenny. "I don't really know how I got myself into this situation, but you know I would never intentionally do something to hurt Stan," I explain.

"I know. But someone is definitely gonna get hurt if you keep this up. I don't know what's going on with you and Wendy, but you need to get over it before it goes too far."

I sigh. If only it was that easy. The fact is that I feel more strongly for Wendy than I think Kenny realizes. I might even feel more strongly for her than I'm willing to admit to myself.

"Thanks Kenny, I'll try," I say, simply to appease him. "Do me a favor? If Stan does tell you something, will you please let me know?"

"No problem. Hey, you wanna hang out over here for a bit?" he proposes.

"Thanks, but I can't. I've totally fallen behind on my schoolwork, and I better get some done tonight. I just needed to ask you that question and also make sure you're not mad at me." This is actually true. As a result of my inability to concentrate, I've mounted a ton of homework.

"That's cool. I guess I'll see you at the Imperial on Saturday then," Kenny smiles.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that." This is actually a complete lie. I've been counting down the days until Token's show because I know that I'll see Wendy there.

I say goodbye to Kenny and let myself out of his apartment. I'm finally walking through the parking lot to my car when my cell phone rings. I check the caller ID and feel dizzy when I see the display read 'Wendy.'

"Hello?" I answer a bit more eagerly than I would have liked.

"Hi Kyle. It's Wendy," she greets calmly.

"Yeah, how are you?" I say with regained poise.

"I'm fine, thanks. Been kinda busy this week."

"Yeah me too," I reply, for lack of a better answer.

"Can I ask you a question real quick?" she asks me abruptly.

"Shoot," I try to say composedly, even though I feel my blood pressure rising by the second.

"Do you know what's wrong with Stan? I mean, did he say anything to you?" she asks worriedly.

Given that I just asked Kenny the same thing, it's funny she should be asking me.

"He hasn't really said much to me this past week," I answer honestly.

There is a noticeable silence on the other end followed by a sigh.

"I guess what I was really wondering was if…I mean…did you tell him, you know…that we…" she trails off.

"That we kissed? No, why would I say anything about that?" I reply dumbly, as I finally reach my car.

"I don't know…I've been calling him all day and have just been getting his voicemail. To be honest, we've been having a lot of problems lately, but we've been fighting even more these last couple of weeks," Wendy says dejectedly.

Hold on. They've been having problems lately? _'A lot'_ of problems lately?? I guess I've seen them snap at each other recently, but I thought it was just a normal spat. Is _that_ what's been wrong with Stan? Oh my God, is _that_ why Wendy kissed me? Was she just acting out against Stan? Shit, I need to sit down.

"Yeah, he's been acting weird since my party." I fumble to unlock my car door.

"Are things still cool between us? I mean, since I kissed you?" her breath catches.

I collapse into my driver's seat and close my car door. "Of course. It was just a quick kiss. You've been having problems with Stan. It didn't mean anything," I say, secretly hoping she will disagree. My stomach feels sour.

"Right. You're so right. Thanks for understanding Kyle," she says gratefully.

"No problem. So…uh, see you around?" I manage to sputter, though I'm not sure how I'm coming up with the words. All I know is that I can't wait for this call to be over.

"Yeah. See you at Token's show on Saturday, right?" she says expectantly.

"Sure, see you then. Bye Wendy," I sigh into the phone before hanging up. I drop my head on the steering wheel in front of me, feeling suddenly exhausted.

I am such a fool for thinking that Wendy felt the same way about me. Kenny was right. Someone was bound to get hurt. And it turned out to be me.

* * *

**A/N: just wanted to say a quick hello to any readers out there! Thanks!**


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